Nugs' Wasted Opportunity

Nugs: Iron Man and I met totally by accident. I had just escaped from LA, so I was kind of like Kurt Russell, only smaller and less growly. And also with both my eyes and substantially less body hair.



Finding a dude was definitely the last thing I was concerned with. I'm currently still on the job hunt, and I'm crashing at my dad's until I settle into a suitable living situation. The first time I moved back to New York I made the disastrous mistake of dating the first guy that I met, so I was determined to hang out with my friends and focus on myself, leaving relationships on the back burner. I wasn't prepared for this at all.

Ginny: That's what they all say "It's me time!" and then they meet their future spouse.

Nugs: At least if I marry him I'll know that he's already seen Ginny and I wasted together. So I won't have to drop that bomb at the wedding.

I had been back East for about two weeks when I was messaged on Facebook by one of my oldest friends, who you guys may remember from That Ain't Kosher as Bri-Winning. He was hitting up our old Sunday night hangout with all our boys from my college days, so of course my presence was required.

Bri-Winning and I got to the bar and weren't there for ten minutes when Iron Man arrived. Apparently he and Bri-Winning had met a few months prior through another mutual friend and were usually both there on Sundays, but Bri-Winning didn't know whether or not he would be there that night. He introduced us, and I found myself immediately regretting my decision to not go with the V-neck top. Dude was hot. Then I found out he was a Penguins fan. Oh. Fail.

Too bad for you. RANGERS FOREVER.

Lily: Womp womp. Why don't people understand that these are serious issues?!

Tits: I love this guy and yet I hate him at the same time. I just can't deal with those Penguins fans.

Nugs: Right? I will never, ever raise a Flyers fan in my house. Or Devils. Sorry, Tits.

PS- Lily, you're getting married to a Packers fan. You can't say shit.

We ignored everyone else for about an hour until Bri-Winning came over to drive me home. I lingered for a while as I put on my jacket, waiting for Iron Man to offer me a ride (in the car, you pervs!), ask for my number, ANYTHING that would indicate the slightest hint of interest in continuing our conversation. I waited, and all that happened was a goodbye.

SAY WHAT.

Ginny: Guys do this all the time as in they don't get the hint when we're giving the hint.

Lily: The male species does not comprehend "hints".  And sometimes, they don't even get it when you're telling them directly.

Tits: You could write the hints on a two by four and beat them over the head with it and they would still not get it. I can't tell you how many times I have said something to Imac only for him to forget in less than 3 seconds.

 Nugs: Ugh, YES. Unless you include the words "sandwich," "beer," or boobies!!!!!!".

I spent the next two days going over this (sorry, Tits), wondering how I (again) could have fucked things up. (OMG this was torture, Nug's ability to over-analyze is epic) (Do you really want to play this game with me? Because this will end in a tie. Or a marshmallow fight.) I concluded that I definitely should have worn the V-neck after all.

Then, when I was checking my Facebook, I noticed a friend request. It was Iron Man. He was on, and sent me a message on Facebook chat. I kept it totally cool while texting like nine of my friends in the process, even while he asked me to go for drinks that weekend.

One of his friends was bartending that night, which is very bad for me because the shots were free and I hold my liquor even worse than a freshman sorority girl. The drinks kept coming (Haha. "Coming."), and being sufficiently loaded allowed me to "question" him about his lack of follow-through:

Me: So what was your deal? I totally didn't expect to hear from you.
IM: About that. I just figured I would find you on Facebook through [Bri-Winning].
Me: Well, that makes no sense. You should have just gotten my number.
IM: Yeah, after you left, I was kind of like, "you stupid motherfucker."
Me: Actually, me too.

*drink*

Me: So how did you find me on Facebook? Did you go through [Bri-Winning's] friends or something?
IM: Yeah, I saw somebody that I thought was you. Then I went through some pictures and I was sure.
Me: Stalking. Classy. Did you go through the ones on the stripper pole?
IM: There are ones on a stripper pole?
Me: Really? I thought those would be the first ones you looked at, considering you've been talking to my boobs for like twenty minutes.

IM: Shit. You noticed that?
Me: It's pretty obvious.

Tits: In fairness to him, your tits do come through the door about 2 minutes before the rest of your body. It's hard to miss them.

Nugs: AHAHAHAHAHAHA.

The more we imbibed, the more the conversation slipped heavily into unintentional porn:

Me: (after he asked about my job) So, what do you do?
IM: I'm a pimp.
Me: .......
IM: (explains actual job. He's not serious- he's not really a pimp, but it's close.)

By this time I had downed at least two glasses of vodka and three double shots of tequila, and I didn't know which one of him was real- the one on the left or the one on the right. I was super hammered, so I was sort of relieved when it was time for last call. We walked out to the car and had a relatively normal drive back to my dad's house which I do not remember at all until the end.

We sat in the driveway, and it was one of those typical first date moments where he was probably thinking about whether he should go for it and I was probably thinking about whether he would go for it, or I would have been if I weren't smashed out of my mind. Before I could even take this in, he leaned over and it happened, and even though I was heavily dosed on tequila I knew that it was good. I straightened myself up, said my goodbye and exited the car. I barely made it to the bathroom before I lay down next to the toilet. I woke up the next morning fully clothed with a pounding headache, my face pressed against the tile.

Tits: This seems to be the proper order in life: Making out and then vomiting up everything you have eaten for the day.

Lily: I have an awesome visual of you looking hung over...

I was totally convinced that once again, I was destined to adopt nine cats and move into the comic book store, but IM actually texted me the next day and invited me out with his friends. "Shocked" does not even begin to cover my reaction, although he still claims he had no idea how intoxicated I really was that night. He probably just thought I was being a bitch. Although he does kind of enjoy that, which explains why we're still together. Either that, or he really likes V-necks.

Ginny: there is nothing wrong with having a lot of cats!


Nugs: Or lemurs. For some reason, I'm now obsessed with lemurs.

This dude.

You've Got Male. See What I Did There?

Nugs: This weekend I went out of town to visit my mom and, while on my vacation, picked up a shit-ton of postcards for all my co-bloggers (Bloggesses? Bloggi? Let's coin something and make this a Thing).

Lily: I vote Bloggi, because it sounds funny.

Ginny: And Bloggi sounds like it would be grammatically correct or something like that if it was a real word.

Nugs: You guys know how I feel about grammatical accuracy. Let's do this. Moving on..

Lest you think that I'm a total philanthropist or whatever, keep in mind that this was like 40% for them and like 60% for me. Or, to be more accurate, it's probably more 20%-80%.



Ginny: I'm bad at math so don't look at me.

Nugs: I am definitely more of a science nerd. "Chemistry," hey-o!

Anyway...

Every time I mail something to my friends I get to go to the UPS store, which means that I get to see my secret boyfriend; and by "boyfriend" I totally mean "definitely knows I'm in love with him and is most likely terrified that I'm waiting behind his car or something." I should probably inform him that we are in fact together but I like my relationships to have that element of surprise. I swear I am thisclose to throwing myself boobs out on the counter and asking him to sign for my package.

Lily: TeeHee, package! In all seriousness though, you should totally do it. 

Coyote Tits: Nugs has been talking about this guy for months. MONTHS. The way she describes him, well it's totally like this:

Nugs: It's true. My friends all benefit from my stalker tactics because this means they get a bunch of presents, but in return they have to put up with me rambling on about how hot this guy is. So, tit for tat. Without the TAT.

One time I went in there with an NYC shirt and some old dude started talking to me about the Knicks. I love the Knicks, despite the fact that they consistently suck, and the guy behind the counter was like, "oh, we have someone here who's a Knicks fan." Then he told my future child support to come out from the back room and I DIED. Not visibly, though, because I'm all stealth.

As it turns out, we are totally made for each other because he is also from New York. He had even heard of the tiny college that I went to that people usually make curious puppy face when I mention. Also did I tell you guys that he looks like this?

Lily: And you haven't jumped his bones, why? This is a HUGE step above from what I was imagining in my head. 

Nugs: Wait. What are you implying?

Lily: Stop slacking and get to it!

Nugs: The answer here is simple: I'm a chickenshit.

I mean, we had talked to each other before but not normally for more than three minutes because:
1) He's at work (Not a good excuse, he takes breaks, no?)
B) He's always surrounded by old fat dudes and (ew)
MAGICAL PRANCING UNICORNS) That three minutes is usually the exact amount of time I can hold a conversation with him before I picture him naked and get all flustered and have to leave before I say something that gives away what is going on in my head OH HAAAAAI. Every time he asks for my number to "put in the system" I want to be like, "put THIS in the system." Oh yes. And then I get all excited because he asked for my number. And then I remember, "oh right. It's his job." Sad.

Coyote Tits: This is also his job:

Nugs: Anyway, I went there today to mail everything and- what a gyp- he wasn't even there! Or his red light psycho-meter went off and he went to sit in the back in the fetal position until I left. Later Tits and I were on Facebook and this happened:

Nugs: he wasn't even there; what a gyp
Coyote Tits: seriously
Nugs: or maybe he was hiding in the back. he probably heard me come in and was like "Oh Shit"
Coyote Tits totally unlikely;  he would have been all "get the fuck out of my way the hot bitch with the big tits is here"
Nugs:: AND SCREENCAP
Coyote Tits hahaha
dammit now everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of Nugs 

Ginny:  Looks like we're going to be getting more post cards.

Nugs: All my friends keep telling me to just ask him to get a drink or something, but I think at this point he would probably run the fuck the other way. Or at least purposely give me the wrong meeting place and then have the cops show up. Although, hey, handcuff access! Ye-yeah.

Please still be my friends.

Ginny: I like the or something because the or something could be sexy times.

Lily: I agree. Invite him out. Talk about NYC. And if the cops come, maybe they would want to join the party. HEY-O!

P.S. We're still friends.